“Watch my back. I’ll be right back.” Farrell nodded and Jenkins walked across the War Room to his office. Farrell turned toward the occupants of the room and kept the barrel of the rifle aimed in their general direction.
Jenkins returned a minute later with his M-16, jacket, radio and small duffle bag of personal gear. Farrell was standing right where he had left him.
“HOLY SHIT!” One of the security operators nearly jumped out of his seat at what he saw on his monitors. “There are deadfucks in the morgue!” The Duty officer hurried over to the security console, several aides right behind him.
“Those are Alphas!” exclaimed the officer. With a furrowed brow Jenkins rushed to the console and saw for himself. The technician was right. There were three Alphas; two members of the extermination team and another suited in surgical blues, formerly a doctor by all appearances.
The technician tapped his keyboard and another security monitor switched to the hallway camera where Dr. Cooper could be seen running for the elevator, his face cringing with panic. Behind him, near the morgue entrance stood a confused guard, his M-16 held low. The guard turned and looked back into the morgue then suddenly began hopping around on one foot, swatting at his legs then his crotch. He fell to the floor, writhing in apparent pain just as Dr. Cooper reached the elevator.
“What the hell is he doing in the morgue? I ordered him to the incinerator to burn those bodies!” Jenkins didn’t like the cold, sinking feeling that suddenly crept into his gut.
“Dr. Cooper ordered an emergency autopsy on three of the burned bodies from down stairs. Captain Sheen approved it.” The Duty Officer said. “He called for Dr. Vasquez to assist him.”
“That stupid, crazy bastard.” Jenkins muttered.
“SIR!” one of the communication techs called from down the line.
“What is it?” the duty officer called, never taking his eyes off the security monitors.
“Kimball Junction is under attack sir!”
“WHAT?” Jenkins and the duty officer blurted simultaneously.
“Kimball Junction is under attack! They report a huge number of zombies pouring out of Parleys Canyon, with a couple of Abrams tanks leading the way.”
The duty officer looked to Jenkins, his face pale with fright, his eyes clouded with confusion, his Adams apple bobbing like a cork…but beyond that a desperate, frantic plea for help. He was way out of his league and he knew it. Captain Sheen was dead, and with him went his version of the truth. This was the here and now, and it was Colonel Jenkins standing before him. If Jenkins didn’t make his move soon this young Lieutenant…Gates his nametag read, would most likely fall to his knees and beg him to resume command.
“Get men down to the morgue to deal with those Alphas.” Jenkins growled at the duty officer. He glanced at his watch, surprised that it was barely 18:00 hours. It had only been two hours since the ill-fated autopsy. So much had happened in that time that it seemed several hours ago. Knowing any plans he’d had for a helicopter ride back to the lake had just put on indefinite hold, he felt now was as good a time as any to call home and spread the good news. Besides, it was way past time for him to check in. He wouldn’t be surprised if they had been trying to reach him for a while now, unable to since he had left his radio in his office when he went to the autopsy.
He pulled his radio from his belt and went to call home when he noticed the power was off. That wrinkled his head in confusion. He had left it on when leaving it behind, of that he was certain.
“Captain Sheen had me go into your office and turn it off while you away with the General.” Lt. Gates said.
“And you are just now telling me?” Jenkins gave him a hard stare and Gates cringed like the craven he was.
“In all the confusion it slipped my mind sir.” He could see Gates was expecting to be shot any moment. But Jenkins only shook his head in disgust turning away from the pathetic excuse of an officer and powering on his radio.
“Matt, do you have a copy?” a few seconds later, “Matt this is Jenkins do you copy?”
“JENKINS?” It was Susan who replied, screaming into her receiver. “JENKINS IS THAT YOU?”
“It’s Jenkins.”
“WHERE THE HELL HAVE YOU BEEN? WE’VE BEEN TRYING TO REACH YOU FOR HOURS!” Her voice was shrill and terrified. It was difficult to discern over her screaming, but he thought he could hear other shouts and the crack of multiple gunshots. “WE ARE UNDER ATTACK! DO YOU COPY? WE ARE UNDER ATTACK!”
Chapter 53
Tuesday, June 26, 2001
Rainbow Lake, UT
5:57 PM
While the newcomers rotated into the shower, everyone else had prepared for the assault. All of the children were taken to a room on the third floor that accessed the rear balcony and roof via a small rung ladder set into the wall at the far end of the balcony. Samantha and Sharon stayed in the room with the children while David and Jennifer took defensive positions on the balcony, wearing heavy body armor and armed with their rifles, grenades and Molotov Cocktails.
On the second floor, Matt, Mac, and Sgt. Turner took firing positions on the rear balcony while Rick and Susan occupied the front balcony. They weren’t expecting the assault to come from the front because it was much quicker to walk the mile down the beach and pour out of the forest, as the earlier assault had shown…but it was best to be prepared. Cpl. Norris, the medic, stood at ready in the hallway with his medical bag and rifle, hoping his talents were not needed. Scotty stood atop the stairwell while Pvt. Irving and Pvt. Cordoba were at the bottom of the flight in the foyer, ready to shoot any deadfucks that penetrated the house from front or back.
Outside, Commander King, Cpl. Philips and Cpl. Carey waited in the Tincan, ready to provide heavy ground assault against the horde. It was a job that all three men seemed to relish.
“Gonna get some!” was how Cpl. Philips put it, full of fire and attitude…
It was just minutes before 6:00 PM when the dogs took up their wailing again, bounding down the southern tree line toward the lakeshore in a yelping, barking pack. Matt tried to push the butterflies out of his stomach as he took his place on the second floor balcony, flat on his stomach, barrel of his rifle pointed out between the slats of the railing. Lying this way, with his helmet and body armor, he made for a small target, but he could still see the bullet from earlier, approaching in slow motion yet helpless to avoid it, and he also remembered the pain and dread that had accompanied the impact.
The first dog to reach the beach was the greyhound that they had dubbed Lady. Lady turned south to face whatever was approaching but her barks of anger turned to yelps of pain as she was cut down by gunfire. The other three dogs came up short, stopping several feet back from Ladies twitching, bleeding body, barking and back-pedaling with confusion.
A pair of white robed men broke clear of the tree line along the beach and made for the boathouse, their AK-47’s firing wildly at the mansion. Matt returned their fire, squeezing off several three-round bursts at the running figures. At over one hundred yards away, it was not an easy shot, but Matt could hear the chatter from the other defenders weapons around him. One of the white robed men went down under the hail of bullets but the other made it to cover behind the boathouse.
The three dogs wasted no time in charging the downed man, who was still alive. They went at him with a savage ferocity, as if they were avenging Lady, tearing out his throat, groin, and belly, spilling his intestines across the grass…
Zack was been hiding in the boathouse, his mind block up so as not to alert the dogs, when it all began. Dusk was setting in, the sun far to the west. He could see south, down the length of the lakeshore and spotted the horde of zombies as soon as they had started up the beach. Even though his mind block was up, he knew at least one, if not all three Sentinels were guiding the horde. The dogs began to bark and run toward the water, the lithe greyhound pulling ahead. He saw the two white robed fanatics armed with AK-47’s break from the trees and run along the beach
toward the boathouse and the lead man shoot the greyhound as it reached the beach. Zack couldn’t help but smile with pleasure as one of the men went down under a hail of bullets from the house, but the other one made it to cover behind the boathouse. Zack crouched lower to avoid being seen by the man, but he avoided the bay altogether, instead climbing the back stairs to the second floor where he no doubt hoped to take up a position to snipe at the house defenders while hidden from sight. A low snarl escaped Zack’s throat as the hunger of the Beast flared inside him, festering hot. He crept along his belly to the small spiral staircase in the corner that accessed the second floor from inside the bay.
He moved up without a sound, the fading sunlight filling the upper floor through the glass roof. Zack paused at the top of the stairs, his eyes narrowing to slits as he scanned the room. It held a large billiard table, a bar and cooking grill and several lounge chairs and couches. He spotted the white robed man at the east end of the room, just entering and closing the door behind him. Zack curled his legs beneath him, tensing his muscles, ready to pounce. The man hurried across the room, headed for the windows at the west end. The man passed within six feet of the spiral stair, a dark, shadow filled hole that he paid no attention to as he walked bye.
That was when Zack sprang.
He took the man down with ease, pinning the gun to his chest with one arm. The man tried to scream but Zack’s feeding proboscis slammed through his right eye and into his brain. He was not surprised when he found the microchip implanted in the center of the brain, and he withdrew his proboscis to spit the chip aside before finishing his meal.
Once finished Zack took the man’s ammo pack and slipped it over his head and under one arm before grabbing his AK-47 and checking the load of the magazine.
He moved to the west windows and peered between the curtains. The three dogs, a black Labrador, a Shar-Pei and a black and white mutt were tearing the downed man to pieces but broke and ran when the horde began spreading out of the forest and onto the back lawn.
Zack moved down the back stairs and once on the ground he peered around the side of the boathouse, took aim and began to shoot the drones carefully, meticulously, one at a time…
From her position on the second floor balcony, Susan could easily look back through the bedroom, across the hallway and through the bedroom on the other side to the rear balcony, where she could get a better sense of what was going on back there. She could see Matt flat on his belly, bulky armor and helmet obscuring his features just as her own armor must be doing to hers. She could see his body rock from the recoil of his M-16.
“Ten O’clock.” Rick whispered from her left side and let loose a three round burst. The gunfire was so close it startled Susan, causing her to whip her head around so hard her neck cracked, followed by the sharp, warm pain of a strained muscle. The white robed man had come out of the forest to the south of the driveway, but was now sprawling face first on the cobblestone drive as his life blood leaked out of his broken chest, soaking into his robes. Two more robed figures broke cover just behind the fallen man and started across the circle toward the house. From a covered position somewhere behind them, covering fire was issued, chewing into the balcony railing just above their heads. She pressed her face into the deck as woodchip’s fell around her head and shoulders but she could hear Rick returning fire. When she dared raise her head and look again she saw the two advancing attackers had taken cover behind the leaping dolphins in the center of the parking circle and were looking to get shots off.
“Give me some cover fire!” Rick screamed, pulling a grenade from his web gear. Susan aimed her gun at the men as best she could and began squeezing the trigger, getting off several three-round bursts. She saw the wood chips and splinters begin flying from the dolphins as she traced her fire toward the attackers.
Rick rose to his knees and pulled the pin on the grenade. He took a quick second to fix his target then lobbed the heavy, egg shaped device like a baseball. It was a perfect throw, sailing over the dolphins and landing on the cobblestone five feet behind the crouching gunmen. Rick flattened on his belly beside her just as the grenade exploded and Susan felt the shockwave rattle her guts. She looked up to see the remnants of the two men splattered across the base of the dolphins amidst tatters of white robe…
Maybe it was because he was on the third floor balcony and the view was panoramic and overwhelming, but when the wave of zombies began to pour from the beach all the way up the southern tree line to the back patio, David had the sudden urge to take a shit.
“Oh my god!” Jennifer yelped in fear beside him.
“Don’t panic.” David said to himself as much as Jennifer.
Steeling himself, David set his assault rifle for single shot, took up aim at a deadfucks head and fired. He had unloaded half a dozen rounds before he noticed that Jennifer had yet to fire her weapon. She just stared in wide-eyed fear at the sea of zombies emerging from the forest…
“GONNA GET SOME!” Cpl. Philips screamed with delight as he started the tank rolling across the yard toward the army of zombies.
“GET SOME!” echoed Cpl. Carey, firing the turret mounted 20mm automatic grenade launcher in a strafing sweep along the advancing zombie line. A dozen explosions went off along a fifty-yard stretch, taking out nearly one hundred deadfucks.
“GET SOME!” finished Commander King, opening up with the .50-caliber, hosing it back and forth along the entire line of marching zombies. Heads exploded like watermelons and bodies were ripped into pieces under the heavy machine gun fire.
A superzombie in heavy military battle gear and carrying an M-16 with attached M-203 grenade launcher emerged from the forest near the house and charged onto the back patio. It raised its weapon and fired the grenade launcher at the Tincan. The grenade hammered into the side of the tank and exploded, peppering the thick armor plating with tiny fragments of shrapnel. They may as well have been rubber bands for all the effect it had on the tank. King swung the .50 back toward it but the superzombie was already out of his arc of fire…
From the second floor balcony, Mac spotted the superzombie rushing across the rear deck of the house out of the corner of his right eye. With a surge of adrenaline, he rose to his feet and tracked the barrel of his rifle onto the deadfuck and began firing, single shot, one after another. His bullets tore into the heavy battle armor the deadfuck wore, deflected off the helmet or plowed into the exposed throat. But the bullets had no effect on the creature and it kept running, aiming its weapon and shooting out the rear patio doors below which shattered into a thousand smaller fragments before disappearing inside, out of his sight.
Mac felt a bullet bite into the left breast of his armor, the force of impact throwing him around. Two more bit into the chest plating where they were stopped by the superior armor, but the impact still felt like sledgehammers smashing him. The wind was forced out of his lungs with a loud cough and he fell to the balcony floor, but not before he felt a bullet drill into his left thigh with the blinding pain of a freight train…
Downstairs Pvt. Cordoba stepped out of the foyer into the kitchen, his gun aimed at the shattered glass doorway. His heart skipped a beat when he spotted the superzombie stepping through. He flipped his M-16 to automatic and squeezed the trigger, emptying the clip into the creature’s upper torso and face. Its already damaged armor ate up half the clip, but the remainder turned its chest to gooey black hamburger and blew its teeth out the back of its head. The superzombie fell backwards out the doorway. Cordoba stepped up to the splintered bar, and peered out the door at the fallen superzombie. It had already rolled to its side, propping itself on one elbow and was pointing its M-16 into the kitchen in his direction. He dove back into the foyer a split second before the superzombie fired, the bullets spraying the interior of the kitchen.
Cordoba pulled himself to his feet just as Pvt. Irving came rushing up, his eyes wide with fear behind his round glasses, his pudgy face covered with sweat, his rifle shaking in his hands. Irving had been
a national Guardsman, not a regular soldier and it had been by the grace of Sgt. Turner and the rest of the men that Irving was still alive.
“I-I-is there a breach?” he blurted out. Cordoba looked over his shoulder into the kitchen and could see the superzombie had regained its feet and was aiming its M-16 into the foyer at Cordoba.
“Keep back!” Cordoba screamed, motioning Irving back up the stairs and trying to take cover in the stairwell himself. The bullets ripped through the foyer, one hitting Cordoba in the right shoulder as he made for the stairs. The force of impact spun him to the other side of the foyer where he fell facedown onto the living room floor, the blood from his shoulder wound splashing out onto the carpet…
Cpl. Norris crawled onto the second floor balcony where Mac lay clamping a hand over his thigh wound, trying to stem the flow of blood.
“In here!” The medic cried, grabbing Mac by his web gear and dragging him off the balcony into the bedroom. Mac just moaned with pain but kept his hand clamped on the leg wound.
“Let me see, let me see!” Norris pulled Mac’s hand away to examine the wound. The bullet had passed clean through his leg, exiting out the back eight inches below his left buttock. Norris probed the leg, feeling for a broken femur or signs of a ruptured femoral artery.
“How bad is it?” Mac asked through pain clenched teeth.
“You’re one lucky bastard.” Norris laughed. “The bullet passed clean through the meat, missing everything else. No broken femur, no arterial bleeding.”
“Well it sure hurts like a motherfucker!” Mac retorted, in no mood for humor.
“A tourniquet and a shot of morphine should do for now.” Norris reached into his bag for a disposable, one shot battlefield dose of morphine.
“Just worry about the tourniquet for now. I need to get back out there.” He motioned to the balcony with his head. “I don’t want to go into battle doped up.”
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